


'Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky

by jazztrousers



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Marijuana, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazztrousers/pseuds/jazztrousers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his catching-up on American culture and music in the years he's missed, Steve has some questions for Tony about smoking pot. Tony can't resist an opportunity to get Captain America stoned.<br/>Side effects include dancing, snacking, stupid jokes and a little kissing when no-one's looking.<br/>(Note: I'm aware that people smoked weed in the 40's. Go with it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky

“Okay, JARVIS, save these schematics in the new folder, don’t bother with anything above regular encryption and…” Tony waves his hands tiredly at the air, pushing aside a holographic screen of data. “..Shit, I don’t know. Just put it somewhere I’ll find it later, I’m going for coffee.”

“Very good, sir.” The program neatly closes itself down, and finally, fucking finally, Tony is done, for at least a few glorious hours.

He pads into the kitchen, barefoot and clad in track pants and a vest, and prods at the coffee maker until it whirrs into life, grinding up Tony’s preferred blend at the correct consistency, roast and—someone in the next room, the TV room, is listening to Jimi Hendrix. How about that.

Once he has his hand wrapped securely around a mug of delicious brown mud, Tony goes to investigate which member of the team is rocking out to Hendrix, putting his money tentatively on Coulson, suspecting he was probably some kind of hippie back in the sixties, how old even is Coulson? He can’t imagine Coulson ever being young. However, Tony finds that he’s wrong, as, sitting cross-legged on the large leather couch opposite the television, is none other than Captain Steve Rogers, with a look of childlike wonder on his face as Jimi shreds out the notes to “Star-Spangled Banner” at that oh so famous set at Woodstock, nineteen-sixty… whatever. That set.

“Should have figured you’d like this song.” Tony ventures, and bites his cheek to hold in a smile at Steve’s slight jump in his shoulders, apparently so engrossed in the performance he hadn’t even noticed the other enter the room.

“Oh, yeah.” Steve says earnestly, not even trying to disguise the amazement in his voice. “It’s incredible.” He looks wistfully back at the television. “I wish I coulda been there.”

Steve looks cute in his pressed khakis and plain white t-shirt, Tony hates himself for noting.

There’s a few beats of silence as they both watch Jimi finish the song and the last screaming, distorted notes fade out, and then Steve looks up at Tony again, and asks,

“What’s Purple Haze?”

Tony chuckles fondly into his coffee, wondering how to broach this subject without upsetting Steve. It wouldn’t do to shatter his new-found love of rock music with the terrible truth that probably all of his favourite artists were out of their minds on drugs when they’d written all of Steve’s favourite songs. Steve was from the forties, people went to _jail_ for smoking marijuana in those days. Well, technically they still do now, but only if you’re dumb enough to get caught. It was different in those days, anyhow.

“It’s, uh, weed, Cap.” He makes a toking gesture at his lips. “Marijuana?”

“ _Ohh_.” Steve says, nodding sagely. “That was big in the sixties, right? All the, uh…” and then god damn it if Steve isn’t the cutest thing Tony’s ever seen, because he consults his Stark-brand smartphone, where Google is obviously open, and reads from the screen, “..the _hippies_. They all liked smoking it, and there were lots of songs and movies about it, right?”

 _Stop finding Captain America cute. It’s not allowed_. “Yeah, that’s right.” Tony says, trying to keep the laughter from his voice. He loves the unabashed joy on Steve’s face when he learns something new about contemporary America. Like he’s constantly unwrapping the weirdest set of never-ending Christmas presents.

Tony has to ask Steve to repeat what he says next, because it can’t have been what he thought he heard.

“I said, maybe I should try it some time.” Steve looks up at Tony with a reproachful look, eyebrows furrowed, wondering if he’s said something wrong. “Would I get into trouble?”

Tony can’t help the laugh that bursts forth at this, and finally joins Steve on the couch, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No, you won’t get in trouble. I happen to have a medical marijuana card, for the old ticker,” –he taps the arc reactor under his shirt, “and, now that I think about it, so does our pal Banner.”

“He does? To stop him from…?”

“Yeah. Guy makes killer weed brownies, I’ve gotta get his recipe, not that I can cook worth a damn-“

“You can _eat_ it?” Steve asks incredulously. “I thought you put it into cigarettes.”

“Oh, Stevie. I have so much to show you.” Tony says, and is rewarded with a punch on the arm.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m five, I’m a heck of a lot older than you are.”

“Sorry, sorry. Tomorrow, okay? I’ll grab my stash, and we’ll toke up. It’ll be fun.”

Steve nods somewhat hesitantly. “Okay…. Nothing bad’ll happen, right? I won’t get psychosis or anything? When I was in the army, they showed us these movies on the dangers of narcotic abuse, and—“

“It’s completely safe. Hell, it might not even work on you, what with you being a super-steroid-soldier and all that. It’d be shame if you’re immune to booze _and_ pot.”

“You promise you’ll keep an eye on me, and make sure I don’t get out of hand?”

“ _Yes_. You’ll be fine.”

The two remain on the couch for an hour or so, watching The Beatles cheerfully play their classics, or, at least, they’re classics to Tony, Steve has probably never heard these songs before, and then, shockingly, when Steve announces it’s time for him to go to bed, Tony turns in for the night too. He can’t remember the last time he went to bed as early as this. It’s barely midnight. JARVIS has no record of such an early bedtime either, apparently.

  
“Must be Steve’s old-man-ness rubbing off on me.” Tony muses aloud, before rolling over into his pillow and settling into a comfortable doze.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

The next day, as planned, Tony and Steve meet up in the TV room again- this time Steve’s wearing a button-down shirt and _jeans_ , is he doing this on purpose? –and Tony produces a battered wooden box from behind his back, containing rolling papers, a small metal grinder that he cannibalized from an old coffee-maker, and half an ounce of NYC Diesel- his personal favourite strain. The pair take a seat on the carpet, sitting opposite each other, cross-legged.

Steve watches carefully as Tony grinds up the weed and makes him explain every step, openly interested at the craftsmanship that is going into the first joint he will ever smoke. Tony grins the entire time, because he loves people watching him work and build things and generally be impressed by what he can do with his hands, and if Steve’s impressed by this, well, he could show him—nononono. _Focus_.

Finally, Tony holds out the long, thin but slightly cone-shaped joint in front of Steve’s face.

“Et voila. One doobie, hand-rolled by Iron Man. How’s that for prime smokeability?”

Steve is starting to look nervous. “R-right… well, uh, get it going, I guess?”

“Sure.” Tony lights the joint and puffs on it a few times, ensuring it is properly lit, before handing it to Steve.

He holds it at arm’s length, like he’s scared of accidentally setting himself on fire.

“This is gonna sound dumb, but, I’ve never actually smoked before, I mean, I had pretty severe asthma before the serum, and then…”

“Just take a nice, deep breath in, and hold it. Try not to cough.”

Steve brings the end to his lips, takes a long pull on the joint, chest rising as he holds the smoke within his lungs for a moment or two, and then blows it out in a narrow stream.

“There ya go! Take another.” Tony encourages, and Steve has a few more hits before passing the joint back to Tony, softly clearing his throat.

“Wow.” Steve says in a strained voice, holding his throat. “That tastes pretty weird.”

Tony hums in agreement, already starting to feel nicely blazed, blowing little rings of smoke up at the ceiling.  “Look at me. I’m giving Captain America _drugs_. I was already on the shortlist, but I think this definitely qualifies me for the title of Worst Person Who Ever Lived.”

There is a startlingly loud, goofy cackle from beside him, interspersed with a couple of dry coughs.

 _Steve is laughing his ass off_. He has a hand on his stomach and the other on the floor, supporting himself as his shoulders shake with ridiculous-sounding laughter.

“Oh my gosh.” He wheezes.

_Steve is high as balls._

“It’s true!” Tony cries, and takes another puff. “I, Tony Stark, am getting a national icon baked. If Coulson, or Fury walked in right now…”

“They’d have your guts for garters!” Steve agrees, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, and then points at Tony. “You’re a bad influence, Tony Stark!”

They both laugh at that.

A couple of joints later, Steve suddenly scrambles to his feet, still grinning stupidly. “I wanna dance!” He exclaims, stretching his arms and wiggling his fingers.

“I thought you said you don’t know how to dance…?” Tony says, peering up at the larger man behind inexplicably sleepy eyelids.

“I don’t! Let’s do it anyway, it’ll be fun! JARVIS, hit it!” Steve says happily, and then a song that Tony recognises from his childhood, a song that his father would often play, starts up jauntily through the speaker system.

“Hey, I know this, this is Glen Miller, right?” Tony starts to say, when all of a sudden he is being hauled to his feet, and there is a huge hand on his waist, and another huge hand gripping one of his.

“Steve? Steve! Whoa, buddy, careful—“ but it is drowned out by the music, and Tony is being jerked around the room like a marionette, as Steve energetically hops from foot to foot and twirls Tony around in what Tony would guess to be a lindyhop for someone who doesn’t know how to lindyhop.

Looking up into Steve’s very blue eyes, twinkling boyishly as he grins, does not help Tony to feel any less dizzy. The furniture of the room hurtles past him, and he hopes that his hand is not too sweaty in Steve’s. He gives a good effort of jiving his feet around Steve’s, more to stop them from being stepped on than any kind of dancing finesse.

Then, before he knows it, the track is over, and the next one begins. It’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’, a much slower song, and- _holy shit_. Steve is resting his head against Tony’s. Tony is resting his head against Steve’s shoulder, and they are _slow-dancing. Oh my actual god_. Their feet shuffle as they careen in a wide circle, and Steve’s chest is so warm, and this strange silence has fallen between them, and Tony doesn’t want it to end. It’s lovely.

Of course, in this house, silence never lasts for long, and the pleasant, drifting notes of music are interrupted by the door being kicked clean off its hinges, and an unmistakeable booming voice.  
  


“My friends! Are you alright? I smelled fire, so I came to your aid! Are you….” Thor looks around the room in confusion, letting his eyes settle on the two men clasped in an awkward embrace, and before Tony can sheepishly extract himself from Steve’s arms, he is knocked flat on his ass as Steve bounds over to Thor.

“Thor!” He says, and traps the other man in a hearty hug, which is enthusiastically returned.

“Steven! You are in unusually high spirits. I must enquire about the fire, however.”

Tony only snaps out of his daydream then, and informs Thor, “There’s no fire, big guy. We were smoking.” He holds up the bag of pot so Thor can see it, and when the large Norse blonde looks up from putting Steve in a playful headlock, he nods in understanding.

“Ah, you are partaking in magic herbs! I see.”

 _They do this on Thor’s world too? Well, shit_. Tony mentally adds “try Asgard Kush” to his bucket list, smiling to himself.

“You should join us.” Steve suggests, partially muffled by his face being crushed into Thor’s abdomen. “We were dancing.”

“Is that what you were doing?” He asks, giving a rich laugh. “It looked more like some kind of courtship ritual.”

Tony does not blush at that. He does _not_. Steve, however, is nonplussed.

“Yeah, we were! I’ll show you, if you let go for a second.”

Once he has righted himself, and JARVIS has put something more upbeat on, some more big band music that Tony can’t put a name to, Steve and Thor are jigging around the TV room, hands clasped together, seemingly both trying to lead but neither doing that well, especially as Thor seems to be doing some kind of traditional Asgardian warrior dance.

“Hey, Tony, roll up a special cigarette for Thor!” Steve calls over a huge shoulder.

“Roger that, Rogers.” He replies, and is met with laughter from both men. _Who knew this would be such a good team bonding activity? And why the hell didn’t I think of this before?_

Thor and Steve’s dancing comes to an abrupt end when a loud gurgle penetrates the din of the music. Steve places both hands on his belly and says, “Gee, I’m starving. Do we have any food?”

 _Oh, great_ , Tony thinks. A super-solder with the super-munchies. It’ll be a miracle if his kitchen survives this, especially with Thor in tow-

“To the kitchen!” Thor declares, and that is that.

 

 

Half an hour, two boxes of cookies, a box of strawberries and three entire pizzas later, the three have relocated to Tony’s bedroom, and are sprawled across Tony’s deluxe king-sized bed.

Well, Tony is sprawled. Thor and Steve are lazily tussling over a foil package.

“Steven, those are mine! Acquire your own popped tarts.”

“Aw, c’mon, I just want one…” Steve whines, trying to crawl on top of Thor and grasping at the Pop-Tarts.

“Nay! I have inscribed my name upon the box, therefore you are forbidden to eat them.” Thor counters, pushing at Steve’s face.

“Fellas…” Tony starts, but is largely ignored.

“Okay, you win…” Steve concedes, resting his head in Thor’s lap. For a while there’s peace, as the three men lounge on the extremely comfortable sheets.

“Hey, so, I have a question.” Tony says, “Thor, why do you sound British?”

Steve snorts with laughter, looking up at the god of thunder. “Yeah. Is Asgard near England?”

Thor frowns in confusion. “I… do not understand. Is that a place in Midgard?”

“It’s in Europe.” Steve offers helpfully.

“I am not sure. Perhaps the Allspeak translates my tongue to your ears this way?”

“Hey, you’ve gotta buy me dinner first before you go putting your tongue in my ear.” Tony says, giggling. Steve languidly reaches over to slap at him, trying to shoot a disapproving look but it just looks fondly chastising. _Oh, you_.

Thor chuckles at this too. “I would never seek to steal you away from your intended mate, Tony Stark.” He ignores the twin confused looks he receives and continues. “Now, I must take my leave. Your magic herbs have left me weary, and I must rise early on the morrow to meet with my lovely Jane. She is taking me to view Midgardian beasts in captivity!” He concludes, sounding excited.

“You’re goin’ to the zoo?” Steve clarifies, sitting up, hair attractively mussed.

Dopey is a good look on Steve, Tony thinks, and can’t be bothered to tell himself off afterwards. It’s okay that Steve’s good-looking.

“Indeed. I bid thee goodnight, friends.” Thor says, and with a warm smile, starts loudly making his way back to his own room.

And then it’s just Tony and Steve.

Steve shuffles up the bed to lie next to Tony, and the two gaze blearily up at the ceiling for a while, basking in their stoned-ness, and Tony finds his eyes wandering all over Steve’s chiselled face. This is the most relaxed he’s ever seen the guy, and man, is it a good look.

“So, did you enjoy your first time getting high?” He asks, smirking wickedly.

“I sure did.” Steve sighs. “Thank you, Tony.” A few moments later he adds, “I’m glad to have a friend like you.”

Tony’s chest swells with a strange, tight feeling. He’d never given much thought to how lonely Steve must feel, what with everyone he’s ever loved being dead and everything. The Avengers and the people of S.H.I.E.L.D are literally all he has in the way of friends. Tony feels kind of honoured.

“Hey, no problem.” Tony says softly, and then before he can stop himself, sits up a little to place a kiss on Steve’s forehead. Steve just smiles blankly in response.

“Say,” Tony adds, once he is lying on his back again. “You, uh… wanna make out?”

Okay, he probably _could_ have stopped himself from kissing Steve on the forehead, but that was definitely unexpected. _Where had that even come from?_

Steve is looking at him with some confusion now. “Make out with you?”

“Yeah.” Tony replies ineloquently, wondering if he is about to get hit in the face.

He doesn’t. Instead, Steve gives a one-shouldered shrug and says, “Okay.”

Then Tony is being kissed, and there is a large weight on top of him. It takes him a few seconds for his brain to shift into gear and start kissing Steve back, hands clumsily cupping the back of Steve’s head. Steve tentatively slips his tongue past the crease of Tony’s mouth and Tony meets it with his own, pressing his lips more forcefully to Steve’s.

 _Well, I’ll be damned. He actually smells like apple pie_ , Tony observes. _Apple pie and some very potent weed. What’s more American than that, really?_

Tony feels a large hand slip under his loose t-shirt, and sighs happily.

“I really am a genius.” He mutters against Steve’s shiny, slightly reddened lips.

Steve nods in agreement, grinning again, before re-claiming Tony’s mouth and sliding his hand over Tony’s bare chest.

 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

 

** EPILOGUE: **

“You keep yawning, didn’t you sleep well?” Jane asks over the top of her freshly-spun cotton candy, eyebrows knit in concern.

“I must admit I did not.” Thor says, not taking his eyes off the pair of snoozing lions inside their leafy enclosure. “I partook in inhaling some magnificent herbs with Tony Stark and Captain Rogers, but I fear it induced some kind of early mating season in one or both of them. I was kept awake most of the night by their loud, joyous union, and although I am happy for them, it did not—“

“You did _what_??” Jane exclaims a little loudly, a few people turning from taking pictures of the lions to look at her.

Thor waves a large hand dismissively. “It matters not, my love. Come, I wish to visit the elephant house.”


End file.
